In the garden - 1.

She stands in black lace that barely covers her skin, heels clicking softly against the stone. The dark hair falls straight down her back, framing the curve of her ass as she leans forward. One slow slide of her hand and the lace parts. Her fingers find the wet heat between her thighs, circling, pressing, dipping inside. She watches you while she fucks herself, breath quickening with every stroke. Then she sits back on the bench and lifts one foot, the glossy black heel still on, sole flexing toward you. Her toes curl as she rubs the heel across her clit, the pressure just right, the sight of her own foot making her gasp. She keeps going—fingers thrusting, heel grinding—until her thighs shake and her mouth falls open, the garden air thick with the sound of her coming.